


The Desk Job

by Fool of a Book Wyrm (Lafeli85)



Series: Bounty Verse [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood Magic, Bounty Verse, Domestic Fluff, Fluffy Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Gentle Simon Snow, Light Dom/sub, M/M, NSFW, Office Blow Jobs, Office Sex, POV First Person, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Book 1: Carry On, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Soft Simon Snow, Soft Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Soft Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, magic sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24508003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafeli85/pseuds/Fool%20of%20a%20Book%20Wyrm
Summary: I slam my phone on to my desk in aggravation. Not once, not twice, but a constant onslaught of slamming until Simon is there, taking hold of my hands. Stilling me. Willing me to regain my composure.“Don’t be so mean to the poor thing!” he says calmly, attempting to temper the raging beast I’ve become. His calming presence to temper the inferno inside of me. “How would you like it if I banged you against the desk?”“Really, Snow,” I say smoothly, “what am I supposed to say to that?” Aleister Crowley, I know what I want to say. It’s been too long since we’ve found time to do much more than snog, and even that hasn’t been as often as I’d like. It’s my fault, really. I know that. But Crowley, with himheresaying things likethatI can’t help the things I want to do to him.~*~*~*~*ORThe one where Baz is frustrated during grad school, so Simon bangs his anxiety away.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Bounty Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758355
Comments: 13
Kudos: 138





	The Desk Job

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: 20 July 2020:  
> This work has been blessed with an amazing fancomic by the amazingly talented [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix)!! I cannot express how grateful I am to him for this.  
> (I included the Dolphin chest version of this art, but if you follow the "works inspired by" link at the bottom you can also see the chest hair version.)  
> It is graphic and very much NSFW, so be warned when you get to the end of the fic. 
> 
> This fic takes place within the same timeline as my previous fic [My Bounty is as Boundless as the Sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24186307). This does however take place several years later than the original fic.
> 
> If you didn't read the first fic or other ficlets in this series, you can absolutely read this as a stand-alone. 
> 
> Things to know:  
> 1) After returning from America with Shepard, Baz found a blood ritual to bind his and Simon's lives together by magic.  
> 2) The binding allows Simon to access Baz's well of power, but also ties their life-forces together so Baz will die when Simon does (or vice versa).  
> 3) Through this shared bond, they can also feel the other's emotions in times of extreme stress. This has helped them tune in to each other's feelings better, opening them up for better communication. Please note: Sensing extreme emotion does not mean they can read each other's minds, or feel every little emotion the other feels. It's a "too much" feeling situation only.  
> 4) This particular ficlet is about 5 years after they bind their magic.  
> 5) Baz and Simon are engaged and live together.  
> 6) Baz transferred to Birkbeck University of London, and is getting a dual Masters in Modern & Contemp Lit and Medieval Lit & Culture. (Is this information important for this fic? No. Did I spend hours one night avoiding writing by figure out Baz's career path in this verse? Absolutely!)

Grad school has definitely taken its toll on me. I had been working on my thesis around the clock, exhausted from the lack of sleep. Truthfully, exhausted doesn’t even begin to describe the bone-deep weariness in me. I fell asleep at my computer more times than not. I doubt I’d even remember to eat or drink if Simon wasn’t keeping an eye on me. Coaxing me to come to bed at 2am, bringing me tea, and sandwiches with salt & vinegar crisps, and mugs of warmed blood.

It’s still hard to imagine how we’ve ended up here when I was so sure everything would end in flames. I’ve now nearly completed six years of University at two different schools, a course Major and career path change; not to mention the trip to America from hell, nearly losing Simon to our own personal hangups, a coven trial for me, and breaking Shepard’s curse. Most unbelievably, not only is Simon still here and sharing a life with me bound by magic and blood, but last summer he agreed to marry me after I graduate from grad school.

I submitted my thesis to my professor five days ago. I spent the first two days after that sleeping. Thank Crowley it was the weekend, I needed the time to recover before finals.

It is now Wednesday, and I thought everything this week had been going so well. This day just plummeted into the depths of hell.

Here I am, sitting at the desk in my office, staring at the email that just came in on my mobile. It was from my advisor regarding my thesis. The thesis I have been killing myself over for months. The cause of my bad temper, lack of sleep, and lack of touching my inflammably handsome fiance.

My thesis has been kicked back for further research and revisions. I am Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, top of my year at Watford, every bit my mother’s son. That paper is _flawless_.

I slam my phone on to my desk in aggravation. Not once, not twice, but a constant onslaught of slamming until Simon is there, taking hold of my hands. Stilling me. Willing me to regain my composure.

Anybody else would be shocked by the speed that Simon was able to make it to the office, but after five years of sharing magic with him I know he must have been able to feel my bubbling rage.

That is one of the benefits of a magickal blood bond like what Simon and I have, we can feel each other. It was an unexpected side effect at first, we had only expected to feel physical injuries but intense emotion also carries over. It can be a bit much at times, with the way Simon feels more than he can easily process or express, but it’s helpful to know when the other is feeling too much so we can try to help. And it has helped to force our communication, we had no other choice.

“Don’t be so mean to the poor thing!” he says calmly, attempting to temper the raging beast I’ve become. He must know exactly what I need from what he’s feeling through our bonding. His calming presence to temper the inferno inside of me. “How would you like it if I banged you against the desk?”

He says it so earnestly. The numpty has no clue about the implications that statement has. I just raise an eyebrow at him.

Yes, I may be agitated and nearly feral about my thesis paper being rejected, but I am also incredibly touch starved and this splendid moron standing before me is asking how I’d like it if he banged me against the desk. I would like that very much, actually. I can feel my desire for him pooling.

He’s just staring at me, like he’s unsure why I’m raising my eyebrow at him. I drop my phone to the desk, and slowly turn my chair to face him fully. I let my legs fall open just enough to pull him in close, slotting him between them. Realization seems to finally be setting in.

“Really, Snow,” I say smoothly, “what am I supposed to say to that?” Aleister Crowley, I know what I want to say. It’s been too long since we’ve found time to do much more than snog, and even that hasn’t been as often as I’d like. It’s my fault, really. I know that. But Crowley, with him _here_ saying things like _that_ I can’t help the things I want to do to him.

He leans over, clearly enjoying the height advantage he has on me while I’m seated before him. He braces his hands on the back of my chair, bracketing my head, and leans down until his lips are a breath away from mine.

“Would you like to,” he whispers, his voice rough and husky, “find out how you’d like being banged against the desk?”

The last thread of composure I had left snaps. I reach out lightning quick, pulling him into a fervid kiss. I grip the back of his neck, holding him to me as he scrambles up to climb into my lap. His hands, Crowley, his hands are everywhere at once and it’s still not enough. He’s fumbling with the buttons on my shirt, desperately trying to disrobe me but failing miserably. He’s never been very coordinated, and trying to multitask while riled up does not help matters.

I let my hands trail down his sides until I hit the waistband of his trackies, reaching around I grab his arse and give a firm squeeze. He growls into my mouth, grinding himself down onto me. I hitch up his jumper, pulling it up and over his head. When he returns his mouth to me he starts at my jaw, leaving a trail of molten kisses in his wake. Teeth grazing my earlobe, sucking there for just a moment the way he knows I like it. He does this thing with his chin when he sucks and kisses, and it always leaves me feeling desperate and eager for more.

Before I have time to fully succumb to him, he continues his journey down my neck. “Fuck, I missed you,” he rumbles into my collar bone.

That phrase is enough to shake any resolve I had to just let him have his way with me. See where he lets this go.

“Up!” I hiss at him, “Get up. Now.” I’ll be twice-damned if I let him miss me another moment while we’re here together.

Simon scrambles off my lap leaning back against the desk with his hands braced against the edge, giving me a smoldering look. Lighting me up from the inside.

I can’t hold myself back another moment. In one smooth motion I’m on my knees before him with his trackies pooled at his ankles.

Simon blinks down at me a couple times, stunned by the speed I was able to relieve him of his bottoms.

I take hold of his hips to hold him still, nipping at his inner thigh and sucking a love bite into the soft skin there. He groans, his grip on the desk tightening.

“Baz, please,” he whines. He may be impatient, and I may want to give him everything he could desire, but it has been so long since we’ve been this close that I have no intention of rushing. Especially not when he just told me he missed me. I think I’d rather study him at this desk than any amount of research.

I kiss down his leg to his knee, before moving to the opposite leg and repeating the process back up. He’s nearly trembling with anticipation.

“Please what, Snow?” I ask, smiling through the wet kisses I’m leaving on each mole scattered across his skin. On his thighs, his hips, his soft tummy that I love so much. I know full well what he wants, but I love this. Hearing him beg for exactly what he wants. Finding the words that only I get to hear.

I begin gently sucking at the skin just below his navel while I wait for his answer, grazing my teeth against his skin. I know I’m making it nearly impossible for him to concentrate on answering.

“Please,” he rasps out, breaths coming short and tight. “Suck me, Pitch. Christ. Please—” his voice is deliciously shaky, “just do it already.” Normal swearing, a sweet symphony when Simon spits those words out when he’s naked and craving my touch. This is when I know he’s desperate, when he reverts back to the language that eight years of Watford education couldn’t hammer out of him.

I take a hold of his cock and plant a kiss to the base, then lick a broad firm stripe up to the crown before swallowing him down as far as I can in one fluid motion. I grip his shaft, working what I can’t fit in my mouth at an unhurried pace. It’s been so long since we’ve been like this, I want to take my time with him. Give him everything until he’s trembling and begging for things he never even realized he wanted.

He loosens his grip on the desk with one hand to bury it in my hair, pushing and pulling seemingly at the same time. I love it when he’s like this, falling apart with pleasure under me. Because of me. Trusting me to take care of his needs and desires.

His hips are involuntarily thrusting, fucking my mouth with that hand still tangled in my hair urging me on. His eyes are locked on my mouth, watching with a burning intensity. Until suddenly—

“Stop! Baz–” He has relented his grip in my hair, panting and writhing under my careful ministrations. I release him with a pop, unsure why he’d need me to stop when I know he’s so close to the edge. I raise an eyebrow at him, caressing the soft skin at his hips with my thumbs.

“S– Sorry,” he says sheepishly, “S’just. I was too close.” He’s panting, chest heaving as he attempts to catch his breath and settle himself, “and I’d really rather bang you against the desk. Y’know, to teach you that lesson.”

I swallow hard. Simon Snow may not be the most eloquent speaker, but his words always have a way of affecting me like nothing else can.

I slowly stand back up, leaving a trail of kisses up his body as I go. A kiss for every mole, mapping the constellations on his skin.

“Top drawer” I whisper to him as I kiss my favorite mole, the one on his neck just below his ear. I shrug out of my shirt (why do I still have so many clothes on?) and lay it across the back of my chair, kicking it out of the way. I start on my belt buckle, knowing if I leave it to Simon in his current state he’ll probably destroy it.

“Why do you have lube in your desk drawer?” He asks, raising both of his eyebrows at me. (He still tries to imitate me, but can’t quite manage just one eyebrow, not many people can. He’s an idiot for even trying, and I love him for it.)

“Why do you think, Snow?” Why is he even talking? “Is this really what you want to discuss right now?” He sets the lube down on the desk, and pulls me closer by my belt loops. His mouth is back on mine, tongues fighting for dominance. Kissing Simon Snow is like fighting with him, and he gives as good as he gets. (And it’s all so good.)

I’m glad I got my belt loosened before he got his hands back on me because as I suspected, he’s having trouble simply unbuttoning my flies. He finally succeeds, pulling my trousers and pants down in one swift motion, grinning like he just won a great prize. Maybe he has.

I step out of my trousers and toe off my socks, kicking them all away. I really don’t like leaving piles of clothes around, but at the moment I couldn’t care less.

He’s nipping at my ear again, and a soft sigh escapes me. I should be mortified by how vulnerable I am around him, but after five years of learning each other’s bodies, I have very little shame left to feel when it’s just the two of us. Besides, in this moment, I don’t have the space to feel anything but how much I want him. All of him.

“How do you want it?” He whispers into my ear. Anything, Everything. I want whatever Simon is willing to give me.

“I thought you were teaching me a lesson about banging objects onto my desk,” I say. I try to sound bored, trying to make him work a little harder for it. But my voice comes out strained. He knows he has me. “Shouldn’t you be making the decisions, Snow?”

“Simon,” he says simply. As if that’s the answer to all of my prayers. I know exactly what he’s playing at. After all of our years together, this is still a battle he likes to have. I know he prefers it when I call him Simon. But I only allow myself that pleasure when I’m out of my mind with love or he needs me to be soft with him. He’ll get it by the end, but I’m going to make him work for it. Once he’s worked me good and proper.

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” I try to say it with a bite in my voice but I know it doesn’t work. This is all a part of the game. Our strange act of foreplay.

“You’ll say it, Pitch. I’ll have you screaming my name and begging for sweet release,” he says it low, and I already know I’m fucked. I’d never admit it in so many words, but I love it when he’s dominant like this. He knows it too.

“Turn around,” he growls into my ear before taking a small step back. I comply, placing my hands on the edge of the desk. He knows he could ask me to do anything and I would. If I had much of a heartbeat, I’m sure he’d be able to hear it.

He presses in close behind me, trailing his fingers up my spine feather light. The barely-there touch sets me on fire, I can feel the scorch of desire up my spin. I’m taking deep breaths, trying to calm myself before the anticipation kills me.  
I always said Simon Snow would be the one to end me, I just never dreamed this is how it would happen. But if it had to happen, this is by far the most preferable scenario.

He kicks at my feet, spreading them apart. He’s such a barbarian, there is nothing subtle about him. Then he’s pressing a hand between my shoulder blades, forcing me to bend over the desk. I could be immovable if I wanted to, we both know it, but I let him bend me over. He can do anything he bloody well pleases with me.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I can hear him murmuring behind me, placing a kiss to the back of my neck. A line of warm kisses warming me down my spine until he reaches the curve of my arse. Then he’s on his knees, trying to suck a love bite into the flesh of my arse, both hands holding tight to my hips.

I have no idea what his plan is here. Why he hasn’t begun to inch those glorious fingers of his toward my neglected hole. But he’s on his knees behind me, using his mouth everywhere but where I want it. Not that he has ever actually used his mouth where I’d really like him to. But I don’t need that, not really. However, I do need something, anything. My body is screaming for him, I need him with every molecule of my being.

“Can I–” He cuts himself off, sounding unsure how to ask for what he wants. Is he trying to ask me for what I think he is? Crowley knows he can take anything he wants from me, and this isn’t even something that I would ever not want from him. It’s been in my fantasies since fifth year.

“Can I,” he begins again, “lick you here?” he says it as he drags one finger down the cleft of my arse, rubbing my hole gently. Just the sensation of any touch there is nearly enough to make me combust.

“Yes! Si–” I stop myself just in time. I’m nearly too far gone, he knows it now. But I won’t concede yet. “Snow. If you’re sure you want it, I want it. There is nothing you could do to me, for me, or with me that I would say no to. But you’ll need to grab your wand— or mine— and cast **Clean as a whistle!** first. Just to be safe.”

His warm hands leave my arse to fish through our discarded clothes for a wand, and I have to stifle a groan at the loss. Everything feels so much colder when he isn’t there.

**_“Clean as a whistle!”_** I hear him cast. I have no idea which wand he found, nor do I care. One of the most convenient aspects of our binding is the fact that we can cast with each other’s piece with the same effectiveness as our own.

I can feel him crowd up behind me again, but he hasn’t resumed his place on the floor yet. The anticipation of his touch is killing me.

Then one hand is grazing my backside again, light enough for me to know he’s there but so light I can’t revel in the sensation.

“For the love of magic, Snow, just fucking get on with it already.”

“Get on with _what_ , Pitch?” He is an absolute nightmare, echoing back my own torment I had just used on him when I had him under me.

He’s actually trying to kill me, I’m absolutely sure of it now.

I take a deep breath in and out before responding. It’s the best I can do to try and remain somewhat in control. To make him wait for a response, when we both want what he’s suggesting.

“Snow,” I grit out, “would you be so kind as to please perform analigus on me?”

“Ana— what? Baz, I don’t even know what that is. I was just going to—” he cuts himself short. I knew using a more clinical term would confuse him enough to put me back in control of his little game.

“Analigus, Snow. Rimming, anus licking, you get the idea?” I look over my shoulder and smirk at him. Just as I had hoped, he is every shade of red and it’s absolutely stunning on him.

The turn in conversation has thrown him off. I hear him murmur something that sounds remarkably like “Tosser”.

Without further commentary, he drops back to his knees behind me and grips both of my cheeks, pulling them apart. He hesitates for only a moment before swiping his tongue around my waiting hole.

I’ve been delighted to learn over the past several years that Simon Snow is excellent with his mouth when he’s not required to use it for speaking. The things he can do with his tongue can only be described as a gift from magic itself. This is just one more thing to add to the list of things he can do with that sinful mouth of his.

After a few tentative licks, he’s got his entire mouth pressed to me doing things that feel so deliciously sinful I don’t know if I’ll ever have a pure thought again. He’s doing this thing, where he swirls just the tip of his tongue around my hole before laving over it with a broad sweeping stroke, and then repeating the process again. I don’t know where he learned to do such things, but it is sending me to another plane of existence.

I nearly jump when I feel his teeth grazing me. His hot breaths on me taking me by surprise, making me nearly lose my mind.

I completely lose every last shred of dignity I had as a litany of moans pour from me. I’m not even sure if I’m in my own body anymore; I feel detached, riding a wave of pleasure that I didn’t even know was possible. He moans into me, and I can feel the vibrations reverberate straight through the very core of me.

The things Simon Snow is doing to me shouldn’t even be legal. My whole body is on fire, every synapse firing at once. I don’t know if it’s possible to have an orgasm from just anal rim stimulation, but I am so close to the edge already I can feel my whole body thrumming.

As I’m losing myself to pleasure and thoughts of Simon’s mouth, I feel a light bite to my arse.

“I said,” he can be such a brat when he thinks he’s in control. “Are you ready for more?”

“Please, yes,” I blurt out before I can even stop to think about how desperate I sound.

He rises up to stand behind me again, reaching around to give my cock a couple of strokes before releasing it again. I nearly melted into his touch, into the friction that I desperately need.

“Turn around and sit on the edge of the desk,” he commands. I should be putting up more of a fight at being told what to do, but this commanding side of Simon is incredibly sexy and he’s doing it for me.

There aren’t many times when he takes control like this in his life. This is one of the few times he feels confident enough to tell me (or anybody, in life) what to do. I’m not mad about it.

In fact I welcome this little game of ours. We discovered how much we both need it years ago, after we finally allowed ourselves to be intimate. He doesn’t slip into this role often, but when I’m particularly stressed he tries to be more demanding to pull me out of whatever torment my mind has conjured. It helps to allow myself to stop trying to control everything, and let him take over this part of our life. I trust him completely, no longer putting up a fight like I used to. It feels good to just let go.

I do as I’m told, finally able to really look at him. He is absolutely gorgeous, skin flushed and his ordinary blue eyes blown with desire. He looks at me like I am something he’d like to eat, which is a little on the nose given what he just finished doing.

He reaches over and grabs the bottle of lube, snapping the lid open and squirting a glob onto his hand. He works it over his own neglected shaft, nearly closing his eyes and groaning at the relief from finally giving himself some attention.

I clear my throat, “I hate to interrupt, but I do believe you needed to teach me something.” That brings him back to the task at hand.

He takes a step closer, grabbing me behind each knee and dragging me forward just enough for my rear to be hanging slightly over the edge of the desk. I lean back, supporting my weight with my hands.

He unceremoniously tosses my legs up over his shoulders. He leans in to kiss me. I should be disgusted kissing him after he was just mouth deep in my arse, but I’m disturbed. (Ask anyone.) (Especially Simon.)

“Are you ready, darling?” he whispers against my lips. Crowley, yes, I am ready.

“Whenever you are, love,” I answer in response.

He takes hold of his cock and lines it up with my hole. He puts just enough pressure there to let me know that he’s ready, but hasn’t begun to press in yet.

“Snow,” I growl just as he begins to sink in. It feels so good. I’ve missed his touch, his body so much these last few weeks. I don’t know how I let us go so long without a proper shag, but now that I have him here pressing into me I never want to let that mistake happen again. I need him always.

He presses all the way in so slow and smooth. It may have been weeks since we’ve last done this but my body knows him. I’m ready for him.

Once he’s fully seated inside me, he stills. Allowing me to fully adjust to him, caring for me always. Even when he’s being an absolute prat.

He leans in to kiss my neck, my collar bone, my chest. “You will not touch yourself until I tell you to.” he lifts his gaze to meet my eyes. He juts his chin out, daring me to contradict him. “And I will not tell you to until you’ve called me Simon.” He is going to destroy me, and I will gladly let him.

“Whatever you say,” I would agree to his terms no matter what he demanded, as long as he’s touching me. “Just, move.”

He pulls out achingly slow, then thrusts back in at the same excruciating rate. Just to get to me, I think. To see how much I can take before I snap from the tension of waiting.

I’m groaning again, “More. Snow.” I dig my heels into his shoulder blades.

He picks up the pace just a little, angling his hips just right and—

_Oh_.

A shiver runs through my entire body as he manages to hit my prostate with his thrusts. Maybe that's why he was moving slow and deliberate. Calculating. Plotting.

Merciful Crowley, does he know what he’s doing. We’ve both topped enough times to know exactly what to do to the other to push them to the edge. Simon can read my body better than any book.

My breath is coming heavy as I tip my head back, moaning soft incoherent sounds at the ceiling. I’ve forgotten how to form complete words as my whole body sparks to life.

He reaches his free hand up to wind his fingers through my hair, tugging my head back gently. Moving his lips to my neck, rumbling into my ear, “Feels good, doesn’t it? Fuck, I love making you feel good.” I groan again.

Then he’s picking his favorite fight again, “ready to say my name yet?”

“Hardly, Snow,” I bite out. I suppose I remember a few words after all.

He stalls his thrusts, and the next thing I know he’s wrapping that warm hand around the shaft of my cock, stroking me slow and purposefully. I unintentionally thrust my hips up into his hand. I crave every touch of him, and my throbbing cock is begging for release.

And then, as quickly as he started, he takes his hand away again. I find myself hissing at the loss of him.

“Patience, Pitch,” he croons.

“Move, Please. Something—” I want to beg. Plead. Anything to get him moving.

He thrusts his hips back up into me at a jarring rate, wrenching more soft moans from me. I really should be disgusted with how little control I have left over my mental faculties.

He loosely grips the hair at the back of my head, angling my head so he can access my neck while he continues his relentless thrusts.

“Christ. So fucking good,” he’s mumbling a string of nearly indecipherable phrases into my neck. I know he’s getting close by the increased amount of Normal cursing he’s letting slip.

His hips are no longer thrusting in his usual smooth, precise manner but are now jerking wildly.

“Baz—” he pants between thrusts.

“Yes, Simon. Come for me, love,” I feel feverish, unable to touch myself. I want it so bad, to be touching myself. Working toward my own climax as he comes hot inside me.

“T– touch—” he manages to grind out. My hand flies up to grip my erection faster than even my reflexes should be able to. I’m stroking myself frenetically, thankful to finally be able to have the friction right where I’ve needed it so badly, wanting to work myself up to tip over the edge at the same time as Simon.

“Come on, love. Let go,” I am out of my mind with pleasure, the way he’s thrusting into me, wringing out his own pleasure with my body as I wank myself into bliss.

His hips begin to stutter as he throws his head back, groaning at the ceiling as his hot come fills me. He continues thrusting, slower as he works through his orgasm.

After a few moments, he stills completely opening his eyes to watch my movements.

He lowers my legs off his shoulders as I try to regain my footing while continuing wanking. I’m not even sure I can hold my own weight up after he just thoroughly wrecked me, but not being twisted up any longer is a relief. Before I can worry too much about staying upright, he’s holding my hips as I continue to support the rest of my weight against the edge of the desk.

He drops to his knees, removing my hand with one of his and taking me down his throat.

I have Simon’s come still in my arse and his lips wrapped around me, sucking my orgasm from me. This is far from the first time for such an act to happen, but it blows my mind every time it does.

“Simon— love—” he takes me down his throat even deeper as my entire body begins to shake apart from the miracle that is Simon’s expert mouth.

For a moment, I see and hear nothing. Think of nothing beyond the sensation of his mouth connecting with my body.

Simon continues slow ministrations with his mouth, running his rough callused hand up and down my side until my mind catches back up and my body calms down.

He stands back up, leaving me just long enough to drag my office chair back over to the desk before settling down into it and dragging me onto his lap.

I slump into him, barely able to move or talk. I’m nuzzling my face into his neck, not ready to talk but not ready to leave any space between us.

“I love you, Baz,” he whispers into the top of my head. “Are you alright?”

“Tip top, love,” I breathe into his neck, catching one of his moles in a kiss. “I needed that, more than I had realized. I’m sorry I’ve been so detached the last few months.”

“You don’t need to apologize, not to me.” He’s so sincere it makes my heart constrict. “I’ve known what you’re like when it comes to your studies since we were eleven years old. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but it won’t last forever. Final stretch now, yeah?”

That innocent question, posed from his endless optimism, sends me reeling again. I groan with dread, realizing I hadn’t told him what had sent me into that rage to begin with.

I shake my head slowly. “My thesis was rejected for revisions. I don’t know how to fix it, I thought it was flawless. I don’t submit incompetent work.”

He runs his fingers through my hair, giving my scalp a gentle massage that has me melting into him.

“You’re overworked and stressed. You’re going to take the rest of today off from even looking at it—” I open my mouth to protest, but he continues on before I can say anything. “Don’t interrupt me, Pitch. Listen. You’re going to take the rest of today off from even _thinking_ about the paper.” I’ll never tell him how much I love it when he’s assertive like this. “I’m going to make us supper, and then we’re going to relax on the sofa for the evening.” He’s still massaging my scalp, and a contented sigh escapes me. It’s still hard to believe that I’m living such a charmed life. “You can read a book or watch something with me, I’ll even let you pick, while I give you a food rub.”

His voice pitches lower as he finishes, “And then,” the hand carding through my hair drifts slowly down the back of my neck, following the ridge of my spine, so light that it sends a shiver across my body, “we’re going to have a proper shag in our bed. And the sofa. And maybe in the shower.” He certainly knows how to convince me. “I’m going to make you forget about your stress and anxieties about Uni, until the only thing left in that brilliant head of yours is my name. My _proper_ name.”

I gulp, lifting my head from his shoulder to look in his beautifully boring blue eyes. Not for the first time do I wonder how I got so incredibly lucky to be loved by Simon Snow.

“I love you, Simon.” He does so much for me, the least I can do for him is concede to using his first name right now. “I don’t think I would have gotten through this course work without you being here for me. I don’t thank you enough.” I lean in to kiss the mole on his jaw.

“Or ever—” he mumbles under his breath. I decide to let it go, because he’s mostly right.

“Well, thank you, love. For taking care of all of me.”

“And for teaching you a valuable lesson?”

“I certainly learned a lesson,” I say, locking my eyes with his. “I may be more prone to banging my belongings on my desk more often, if I get a repeat lesson. I may require extensive tutoring.” He rolls his eyes at me, but I just smirk in reply.

I slowly maneuver myself off his lap, stretching my muscles that had gotten a little sore from being on the hard desk for so long. I gingerly cross the room to where our clothes had been kicked and pick everything we discarded up.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I tell him as I pull him up and out of my chair. I wrap my free hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in to kiss him. He wraps an arm around my back, holding me close. “However, I don’t think we’re going to have time to relax on the sofa together tonight after supper,” I say, stepping out of his arms and toward the door. “I do think I’d rather enjoy it if you could pop those wings though, for the evening activities I have planned.” The look he gives me as I look over my shoulder is enough to set me on fire.

Maybe this day hasn’t descended into hell after all. No part of my life can be that bad, not as long as I have Simon here by my side.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire) for continuing to be my beta, cheerleader, sounding board, and amazing friend. 
> 
> This fic was inspired by [this chat post](https://simonssourcherryscones.tumblr.com/post/618128941633421312/baz-aggressively-banging-phone-against-the) by @Simonssourcherryscones on Tumblr. From that post, this whole fic spiraled into something I spent far too long deliberating over. You're welcome?
> 
> And extra shout out to [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix), who other than being an incredibly kind and talented human being, provided the world with [Five Times They Half-Arsed It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20124745/chapters/47675503) which I ended up re-reading half way through writing this fic to cure a 4 day writer's block. 
> 
> EDIT: And another THANK YOU to Kris for creating the amazing artwork for this fic. I am truly blessed. 💜
> 
> **Come say hello to me on[Tumblr!](http://foolofabookwyrm.tumblr.com/) I love new friends!**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] 'The Desk Job' comic montage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25409710) by [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix)




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